Some things never change, do they?
He can remember a time that things had not been thus. When he had been a man, rather than one of the accursed vilkatas, his people's name for the werewolf. He hadn't believed the legends, of course, never having found himself face to face with such a creature. But upon becoming one, he had been forced to flee.
The vilkatas were hunted in his land, killed. Many people believed to be of that kind - even though many, he was certain, were innocent - had been butchered cruelly. Their families as well, killed for having been accused of harboring such an abomination.
He would not have that happen to his lovely wife, his handsome, strong sons. To protect them, he had fled.
And since that time, had been wandering the world.
Always a part, and yet always apart.
Most had sensed that there was something about him that was different, something not in the proper natural order of things. Even among those he was accepted by, he felt he did not belong. Whether the distance was real or simply percieved, whether it was of his making or others, is immaterial.
Even when he was included, he was the outsider, the lone wolf, in more than one sense of the word.
Even now. Part of the Pack, accepted, even given a position.
Eros, the trainer in the ways of love.
But still, apart. Not of their doing, certainly, but of his own. Keeping that distance is easier, in a way. Loyalty is expected, and to be sure, given without hesitation. But with no attachments, you cannot cause pain, or be caused pain.
He remembered the lesson of the Kitten and the Pup.
And of his own life, so long ago. He has never known a greater pain since, only a sort of emptiness that he's never been entirely at peace with. If someone were to ask him if he were lonely, he might look confused. After all, if there's never been anything but loneliness for so long, how does one know it from anything else?
Sitting apart from the others, stolid, stoic, the dark wolf waits. Watches.
The path thus far has not changed, nor does he have any reason to expect it to. Watching the Pack from his place, he finds he would not wish this life on anyone, and so it must be his.
He can remember a time that things had not been thus. When he had been a man, rather than one of the accursed vilkatas, his people's name for the werewolf. He hadn't believed the legends, of course, never having found himself face to face with such a creature. But upon becoming one, he had been forced to flee.
The vilkatas were hunted in his land, killed. Many people believed to be of that kind - even though many, he was certain, were innocent - had been butchered cruelly. Their families as well, killed for having been accused of harboring such an abomination.
He would not have that happen to his lovely wife, his handsome, strong sons. To protect them, he had fled.
And since that time, had been wandering the world.
Always a part, and yet always apart.
Most had sensed that there was something about him that was different, something not in the proper natural order of things. Even among those he was accepted by, he felt he did not belong. Whether the distance was real or simply percieved, whether it was of his making or others, is immaterial.
Even when he was included, he was the outsider, the lone wolf, in more than one sense of the word.
Even now. Part of the Pack, accepted, even given a position.
Eros, the trainer in the ways of love.
But still, apart. Not of their doing, certainly, but of his own. Keeping that distance is easier, in a way. Loyalty is expected, and to be sure, given without hesitation. But with no attachments, you cannot cause pain, or be caused pain.
He remembered the lesson of the Kitten and the Pup.
And of his own life, so long ago. He has never known a greater pain since, only a sort of emptiness that he's never been entirely at peace with. If someone were to ask him if he were lonely, he might look confused. After all, if there's never been anything but loneliness for so long, how does one know it from anything else?
Sitting apart from the others, stolid, stoic, the dark wolf waits. Watches.
The path thus far has not changed, nor does he have any reason to expect it to. Watching the Pack from his place, he finds he would not wish this life on anyone, and so it must be his.